


Cherish

by Saber_Wing



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Carver makes it out of the Deep Roads because I said so, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump, directionless whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 00:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: A close call in the Deep Roads cuts Garrett down to size, and reminds Carver where his priorities should be.





	Cherish

In hindsight, Garrett Hawke really should have been more careful.

The mage stepped backward to launch a fireball, felt his boot collide with something hard, and instantly knew he'd made a mistake. He heard a click, and glanced down just in time to see a flash of metal teeth snapping shut.

...around his _leg._

Garrett's vision went white. Instinctively, he tried to pull away from the source of the pain, but that only made things worse. The trap just clamped down harder, burying itself deeper into muscle, and tearing new wounds.

The mage sank to the floor, curling around the limb helplessly. He thought he might have screamed, but he couldn't be sure. Distantly, he heard his companions shouting his name with alarm, but they likely had their hands full keeping the darkspawn off him. He was on his own, at least for now.

Maker, the _pain..._

With shaking hands, Garrett struggled to pry the trap open, but it was rusted and stiff with disuse. Try as he might, he couldn't find purchase.

_Damn it._

Garrett swallowed a whimper, snatching his staff from the ground. He held it at the ready – trembling, not trusting himself to aim unless he had no choice.

It didn't come to that. After a minute or two, the battle died down – enough for Anders to abandon the stragglers and scramble toward him. Garrett nearly sobbed with relief. He dropped his staff, curling around his leg again with a strangled moan. He heard rather than saw Anders skid to a stop beside him.

“Shh, let me see.” Anders touched his shoulder. He dropped to his knees beside Garrett. “Damn, it's in there good.”

“Dirty.”

Anders snorted. “Honestly, of all the times, Hawke.” He at least _tried_ to smile, though it came out looking like a grimace.

It was getting harder to focus – the agony drowned everything else out. Garrett must have lost consciousness for a few minutes, because when he opened his eyes again, Anders was holding him up, and their other two companions were on either side of him, hovering worriedly.

Varric whistled. “Shit, Hawke.”

“Yeah. I've really _stepped_ in it this time.”

Carver groaned, head in his hands. “Puns _now,_ really? Could you be serious for one second, please?”

Garrett frowned. The worry in his little brother's tone honestly took him aback. He wanted to reassure him. _Wanted_ to, but he couldn't seem to catch his breath. It came in harsh, stuttering gasps, and his lungs burned as they struggled to pull in air.

Okay. This was bad.

Apparently, his companions thought so too. They exchanged a glance, wearing identical expressions of dread.

“ _Oh_ , no you don't.” Carver yanked Garrett's head up, gripping his chin like a vice. He leaned over him, pale-faced and frantic. “Don't do this to me, you son-of-a-bitch!”

“T-That's not a very nice thing to say about mother.” The mage was light-headed now, vision darkening dangerously.

Anders shook his head, cursing. “He's going into shock.”

Carver's reply was surly as ever, though his words trembled. “Yes, I can see that! _Do_ something!”

“Stop panicking, you're making it worse.” Anders blew an exasperated breath between his teeth. “Hawke? You're hyperventilating. Take slow, even breaths for me, and stay awake. Okay?”

There was a sodding bear trap clamped around his leg. Of _course_ he would stay awake _._ More importantly, however, Carver was upset – on the verge of tears, if his voice was any indication. _Garrett_ being hurt was okay, but that?

That was _less_ okay.

The mage struggled to do as Anders asked: to slow his breathing, even as his heart threatened to burst from his chest. He lurched forward drunkenly, patting his little brother's cheek. “Hey. S'okay. 'm okay...”

“You'd blighted better be!”

“If I'm gone though, you won't have to be in my shadow.” Garrett's words were slurring, voice edged with hysteria. “There won't _be_ a shadow. I'll be dead. Might be better for you.”

“Maker's breath.” Carver choked. “Brother...”

Garrett frowned. Operation don't upset Carver wasn't going very well.

“We need to get this done.” Anders' voice was tight. “Now. Varric?”

The dwarf nodded. “I can disarm it.”

“Good. Carver, you'll have to hold him. Try to keep him still.”

“Wait.” Garrett barely recognized his own voice, small, childlike. “W-What are you gonna do?”

Anders knelt in front of him, gently taking Garrett's face in his hands. “We have to free your leg, Hawke. That's going to make it hurt again, but you can't pull away, or it will injure you further. Do you understand?”

His lip quivered. Even just the thought of tearing those teeth from his flesh was unbearable, but Garrett had to be brave. He might frighten Carver more otherwise. The mage must have said as much out loud, because Varric chuckled, despite everything.

“I think that ship has pretty much sailed, my friend.”

“Who's frightened?” Carver quipped, bravado falling flat when his voice shook.

Varric snorted. He shook his head, patting Garrett's shoulder. “Nice and easy, Hawke. This'll be over quick. You ready, Blondie?”

“As I'll ever be.”

Garrett felt his breath quicken again – just the thought of them pushing, pulling, even _touching_ those metal teeth in his leg...

“No. Wait, wait. I change my mind.”

Anders sounded completely wrecked in his reply. “Hawke, it _has_ to come off.”

Garrett might have laughed at the expression on Varric's face, under different circumstances. As it was, the bone-deep sorrow reflected there just seemed sad. The dwarf stretched a hand out toward him – slowly, as one might a wounded animal.

The mage scrambled backward, though it didn't get him very far. The trap was anchored to the floor. In the end, he only managed to shuffle a few inches before being pulled to a stop.

“D-Don't touch me.”

Carver approached from the side, pulling him into his arms. Garrett stiffened, tried to get away, but his little brother held fast.

“Stop, stop. You're hurting yourself.”

And he was – Garrett blinked down at his leg. His foolish fight or flight instinct had just torn his wounds open wider. There was a steadily growing puddle of blood spreading underneath them.

Garrett knew struggling was stupid – of course the trap had to come off, but he was _scared._

Maker, it hurt _so_ much...

“Carver...”

Carver settled Garrett against his chest, rubbing his temple with a thumb. Soft, slow circles: exactly the way their father used to do. “I'm here.”

Any resentment Carver had of him seemed a distant memory – the years had fallen away. And for one brief moment, Garrett forgot he was caught in a rusted, metal death trap. He forgot there'd ever been a time his baby brother didn't love him.

He allowed himself to be held, coddled. To soak up the sweet-nothings spilling from Carver's lips.

Then the metal shifted in his leg, and he nearly had to swallow his tongue to stifle a scream.

Someone was whimpering nearby. Garrett wondered at that. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize those pathetic, stuttering, wounded noises were tearing themselves from his own lips. Just when he was sure he couldn't take it anymore, the pressure disappeared. A soft warmth enveloped him, and the agony faded to a dull-ache.

Garrett collapsed heavily against Carver, tears streaming down his cheeks. Somewhere in his heart of hearts, he knew that was supposed to be a problem, but he couldn't muster the energy to care. He didn't have the strength.

“It's over now, it's all right.” Carver choked. His words trembled, breath hitching suspiciously on the last word. “You're all right.”

Oh.

Oh _no._

Garrett reached up, brushing Carver's cheek with a shaky hand. It was wet.

He was _crying._

Carver pushed Garrett's hand away with an irritable huff. He turned to Anders, swiping at his cheeks angrily. “Did you even do anything? That wound looks ghastly!”

The healer shook his head, binding Garrett's leg. “I did what I could. He's too weak. I don't dare push for more until he's gained a little strength back.”

“We make camp, then.” Carver's voice was hard now, though it still shook. “Tomorrow, though, we need to get out of these blasted Deep Roads.”

Anders already had his maps out, fingers tracing a path. “We shouldn't be far now.”

Varric patted Carver's shoulder. “We'll set camp. You stay with him, Junior. He needs you more than we do.”

Carver made a show of huffing and averting his eyes, but it was worth noting that his grip on Garrett only tightened. Drained, the mage could only stay quiet; even when Carver picked him up, cradling him in his arms, like a child.

The warrior walked a short distance and sat up against the wall. “You're an ass. Be more careful. It would kill mother if anything happened to you.” Carver settled him in his lap, resting his cheek on top of Garrett's head. Still, he did not put him down - almost seemed _afraid_ to.

“Just mother?” Garrett clutched at the fabric of Carver's shirt, voice teasing.

Carver blanched. Even at this awkward angle, Garrett could see the blush tinting his cheeks. He averted his eyes, muttering his response in a tone that was almost sullen.

“And me. I suppose.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with his wounds washed over Garrett. “Aww, I love you too.”

A watery chuckle escaped Carver's lips. It was tiny and sad, but still better than nothing.

The warrior hesitated. He bit his lip, seemed to struggle with something for a moment. “Brother. What you said before...about you dying being good for me.”

_...oh, shit. I did say that, didn't I?_

Garrett winced inwardly, forcing a chuckle.

“I was contemplating gnawing my own leg off at the time. Don't hold it against me.”

“Don't make light of this, it's not bloody funny! You can't talk that way, not even in jest. Not ever again, you hear me?”

Garrett couldn't stop his reply – a little scathing, and a lot unworthy of him, but the words slipped out anyway. “Don't give me cause to think it, and maybe I won't.”

Carver flinched.

Well, getting along for a few minutes had been interesting. Garrett was sure he'd look back on it fondly. The angry response he expected from Carver, however – that he'd trained himself to expect – never came. What he did get was soft. Contrite.

“I'll try to do better. I'm sorry.”

Garrett blinked, stunned. He was half convinced the words were a product of his delirious imagination. There was no way Carver had actually apologized to him. He never apologized for _anything._

“...what?”

Carver rolled his eyes, though his voice was hushed. “I'm sorry.”

Garrett's vision swam – whether that meant he was crying again or going blind was anyone's guess. Regardless, he could see the darkness creeping at the corners of his vision – could feel the hard press of unconsciousness, bearing down on him.

“I'm tired, Carver.” The mage couldn't hold back a sob. “I'm _so_ tired...”

Carver jolted. “You're still in shock. You shouldn't sleep yet!”

“D-Don't...think I have a choice.”

“Wait!” The tension was back in Carver's voice with a vengeance. “Anders?!”

“You'll fret yourself to pieces at this rate, you know.” Anders sighed, though his reply was warm. “He can sleep. Just keep an eye on him.”

Garrett released a full body sigh, sliding in a graceless heap into Carver's lap.

“You good, Hawke?” Varric crouched next to them. The concern in his eyes was plain to see. He rested a hand on Garrett's good leg, squeezing lightly. The mage could barely remember how to form words at this point, but he managed to mutter an affirmative, and something about swimming across The Waking Sea.

Garrett had just enough sense to be pleased with himself when he was met with a response that was equal parts groan and laughter.

“Fine, sleep then. See if I care.” Carver snorted, still wound tighter than a spring, but there was some measure of relief in his tone. “I've had enough of your bad jokes for one day.”

Garrett smiled, burrowing closer to Carver's warmth, and did as he was told.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing Dragon Age II again for about the fifty-millionth time, and of course, I stepped on a trap and immediately turned it into directionless whump. Also, I love exploring angsty relationships. And I love every last tsundere. prickly inch of Carver. You're welcome.
> 
> Not beta read. Sorry for any glaring errors!


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